The Lion's Seduction
by daniellalovestowrite
Summary: Loosely follows the ending of the Azure Moon route, with Byleth marrying Dimitri. Dimitri wrestles with the intensity of his lust for his virgin bride, forcing himself to refrain from consummating the marriage lest he lose control. But little does he know that Byleth is awakening as a woman, eager to explore the delights of the marriage bed.
1. The Conjugal Embrace

_10th day of the Wyvern Moon, 1185_

_Garreg Mach Monastery_

Sunlight streamed into the newly renovated room, bathing it in its delicate warmth. Byleth couldn't resist striding towards the open window, enjoying what little time she had with the warm sun before winter claimed its dominance over Fodlan once more. There was already a pervasive chill in the air, she noted, breathing in the sweet scent of autumn flowers. But at least it was not as bad as the weather in Fhirdiad.

Her gaze turned to the wooden writing desk next to the windowpane. There was the usual clutter on it: quills that were long past their prime, their tips already blunt with overuse; intimidating Church ledgers that refused to balance; and, a stack of documents outlining the reforms that she and Seteth have been working on for the past fortnight. But there was something else, something that commanded the attention of her sea-green eyes: a letter bearing the Blaiddyd coat of arms and Dimitri's distinctly elegant handwriting.

_My dearest wife_, it began, and the simple endearment still sounded foreign to Byleth despite having been married to him for two months now. It was definitely a strange turn of events, them falling in love with one another, but stranger things _have_ happened—her very existence owed itself to such an anomaly. She's just grateful that the hands of fate led her to this path, one where she could tie her life with Dimitri's, first as an instructor, then as a comrade, before becoming his equal in love. She refused to think about the alternative, a world where she had chosen differently.

A world where she wasn't there to be with him when he was at his lowest. Byleth suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Instead, she traced his handwriting, the corners of her lips rising in a soft smile. The letter recounted his day-to-day activities as the new king of Faerghus, and spoke of the progress of their joint restoration efforts across the now-unified Kingdom. It was more of a status report than anything else, but it was so like Dimitri that she couldn't help but find it endearing.

_I just hope he's not overdoing it_, she thought, making a mental note to remind him in her next letter.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of her guests. She gave the letter one last look before replacing it inside its envelope.

"Professor, we're coming in," said a muffled feminine voice. A second later, the heavy oak door opened with a loud creak, revealing the newly-minted Countess Gloucester and Duchess Aegir. To Byleth, though, they were simply Marianne and Hilda, former students turned beloved friends.

"Oh, Professor, it's been so long," Hilda exclaimed as she rushed toward her. While Marianne was dressed in a conservative gray frock that no doubt restricted movement, she donned a pink gown with a questionable slit running up to her thigh, letting her advance across the room with ease.

She gave Byleth a quick hug before saying with mock-reproach, "I can't believe you missed my wedding. Not only mine, but Marianne's too! How cold, Professor. Here I thought we were close."

Byleth was used to her teasing by now, knowing full well that the exaggerated pout directed at her was meant in jest. Regardless, it was still true that she had missed out on what could possibly be her friends' single most important event of their lives. She wore an apologetic smile. "Sorry. The orphans and the poor needed immediate aid."

True enough, she and the Knights have spent the past two months establishing clinics and orphanages in Enbarr, Deirdru and places ravaged by the war. This was, admittedly, a small step towards healing, but a step nonetheless.

"Aww, shucks, when you put it that way, I guess I have to let you off the hook."

"But really, Professor, it's alright. We understand." Marianne's gentle voice was barely above a whisper as usual. "Lorenz and I"—she blushed at this—"we're also focused on rebuilding our territories. We're thinking of helping the people re-establish the industries made superfluous by the war. Farmers, milliners, artisans—they could go back to their crafts now that the fighting has stopped, as long as the proper economies are in place."

"I'm impressed, Marianne. You know so much about these things," Hilda said.

Marianne blushed more. "U-um, my adoptive father has been teaching me. Oh, and Lorenz, too."

Byleth motioned for them to sit on the simple chaise lounge that now adorned her eastern wall. "Isn't he meeting with Seteth today?"

Marianne nodded, graciously accepting the teacup that was handed to her. "Yes, along with Ferdinand. Lorenz mentioned about forming a trade council to address the volatile prices across territories."

There was a hint of wifely pride in her statement that didn't escape Byleth's notice, and the former teacher was hard-pressed not to tease her about it. To think that this was coming from the same girl who thought she was cursed and didn't deserve to live, let alone be happy.

Hilda seemed to have noticed it, too, but she merely gave her friend a fond look, before taking a tentative sip of her chamomile tea. "Ah, so that's what Ferdie's been up to. He's been very enthusiastic about his duties lately, more so than usual." She set her cup on the small table beside her. "You know, I think my brother would be interested in joining that council. He's always going on about wanting to help out more. Silly man, that's why people have such high expectations of him."

Marianne's eyes lit up. "Lord Holst would? Lorenz would be delighted."

"Sure, let me recommend that to him next time I get the compulsion to write home. Better him than _me_, that's for sure. Especially..."

In the process of pouring herself a cup, Byleth's hand stilled. She didn't know why, but she was sure something significant has happened.

"Especially...?" repeated Marianne, her delicate brows meeting in confusion.

Hilda dropped her gaze, almost shyly. "Promise you'll keep this a secret?"

The two nodded.

"You must keep quiet about this, because even Ferdie doesn't know yet." Then, she lifted her eyes, which were glistening with happy tears. "I-I'm pregnant. I'm having a child."

This was met with an uncharacteristic squeal from Marianne. "Oh, Hilda," she sniffed, eyes misting. "That's beyond wonderful! I'm so happy for you."

Reaching over to give her friend's hand a loving squeeze, Byleth offered a warm "Congratulations." Yet as she did, her mind began to unearth questions that have long been buried. The very same questions her father never gave answers to.

_What does it mean when people say they became pregnant? How did that happen? How did they manage to put a baby inside a woman's stomach?_

She recalled how Jeralt broke out in a fit of laughter at the last question, startling the members of their mercenary group who were going about their own business. After recovering, however, his face wore an uncomfortable expression, and brushed her off, stating that she didn't have to think about such things yet. He would tell her when the time was right. And Byleth did as he said, and never gave the matter another thought; she had no reason to.

Until now. But her father was gone, taking his knowledge with him.

An unfamiliar sense of dread snaked down her spine as a thought hit her. What if she never figured out how? What if she never learned the steps to beget a child? Sure, the idea of becoming a mother never occurred to her, but now that it has... she couldn't turn back. Her entire being rebelled at the prospect of a life devoid of golden-haired, blue-eyed children that she and Dimitri would teach swordplay to, read to, and care for.

It was the first time she felt this _yearning_. She was unprepared for it and for the unsettling realization that there was something she wanted more than anything—a family with the man she loved.

She eyed her friends, barely listening to their exchange about potential names for the baby. And then, she decided to get her answers.

"Hilda?"

The lady in question was in the process of taking a bite of cake, her fork pausing in mid-air. "Yes, what is it, Professor? Don't tell me you zoned out again," she teased.

Byleth shook her head. Then, taking a bracing breath, she said, "I was wondering how a person gets pregnant."

The fork fell onto the dessert plate with a sharp _clang. _Utter silence descended on the room; Hilda's and Marianne's faces were pictures of confusion.

What was it about the subject that provoked such a weird reaction from people? Byleth contemplated with a frown.

It was Hilda who broke the silence first. She looked at her former teacher uncertainly. "Er, what do you mean, Professor?"

"I want to understand how someone gets pregnant, like you have. What did you do?"

Again, an uncomfortable silence fell heavy on the air. Byleth, unnerved by this, added, "Jeralt never explained."

Marianne's face flushed furiously, as though suddenly scorched. "Oh, my," she spluttered, covering her cheeks with trembling hands.

Hilda cleared her throat. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but... does that mean..." Her gaze flickered at her friend curiously. "... you've never..."

Byleth raised a quizzical brow. "Never what?"

"Er, lain with someone? You know, shared your bed with anyone?"

Byleth blinked. Dimitri had asked something similar that night. Were sleeping arrangements important to the creation of children? "I've slept alone my entire life, except that one time after my wedding. I had to travel back to Garreg Mach the next day. It has been two months since."

"And during the wedding night... what exactly happened?" Hilda probed.

"Stop, we shouldn't pry," Marianne pleaded. It was obvious that the entire situation made her terribly uncomfortable. "Oh, dear, this is embarrassing."

What was it embarrassing? Intrigued, Byleth answered before Hilda could retract her question. "I was told that the tradition was to sleep together on the same bed, and so we did." There was the issue with her bridal wear, though. The flimsy garment did nothing dispel the chill of the night.

"Then?"

"We talked for a while, before Dimitri blew the candles and bid me goodnight."

That was clearly not what Hilda was expecting if her stunned expression was anything to go by. "That's it? He didn't kiss you, or—"

"Oh, he did. He kissed me goodnight." A sudden wave of awareness warmed her body at the memory of the strange kiss. It had been open-mouthed and wet, and definitely longer than the chaste peck of lips they shared during the wedding ceremony. It gave her the strangest urge to run her hands through the panes of his back and pull him closer. She never had that urge before. How odd.

"And then?" came Hilda's follow-up.

"I fell asleep, and he followed suit."

"That's strange. Lorenz definitely..." Marianne didn't complete her sentence, but threw a speaking glance at Hilda, who nodded in response.

"Ferdie, too," Hilda murmured.

This exchange did nothing to assuage Byleth's curiosity, which was now skirting around the border of impatience. "I still don't understand. What's wrong?"

Hilda sighed in resignation. "I guess it's up to dear ol' me to explain, then." She made a show of smoothing her skirt, as though unsure with how to proceed. "You see, there's a special... er, _embrace_ that a couple needs to do to get pregnant."

Embrace? Was it that easy to get with child?

Hilda continued, her cheeks turning the same shade as her hair. "It involves them being unclothed—"

A choking sound erupted at the last word. It came from Marianne, who has apparently averted herself from their general direction, her hands still shielding her face.

"—then, they embrace each other, skin to skin as an expression of their feelings. You, er, never did this on your wedding night?"

Aware of the deep flush that crept up her neck, Byleth shook her head. _Now_ she understood why it was such a delicate subject—it involved getting naked, of all things. She felt the heat rising up to the roots of her hair as the inevitable image of her and Dimitri naked together entered her mind.

"That's the strange part, though. It's usually the man who's eager to do this, especially when they're in love with a woman."

Marianne finally had the courage to chime in, "And it's obvious that Dimitri loves you deeply."

"So, why hasn't he done this yet?" Hilda tapped her chin pensively. "Though... I suppose there's no reason why _you_ can't initiate it, Professor."

This drew a shocked gasp from Marianne. "B-but that's—"

"What? Dimitri's clearly too much of a gentleman, or too slow for his own good. If the Professor says she's ready, there's nothing wrong with her giving him the proper encouragement."

Byleth didn't know how to respond to this, the mental image of her and Dimitri unclothed was still doing unusual things to her body. Things that she was ill-equipped to identify.

But one thing she was sure of: she wanted to have children. _Their_ children. And if she had to take the initiative, she would.

Leaning forward, she wore the determined look she always had before a battle. "Tell me, what should I do?"

Hilda's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well, you have no choice but to seduce him."


	2. The Beast

_12__th__day of the Wyvern Moon, 1185_

_Blaiddyd Castle, Fhirdiad_

To call Fhirdiad _cold_ would be a horrible understatement—almost like an insult to its infamy, as though it was something a simple change of clothes could resolve. No, the weather was a more ruthless mistress, its frigid fingers unforgiving as they scraped against exposed skin, and greedily seeped into layers of clothing to claim the bodies beneath. It heeded no season nor master, and gleefully laid siege over the city all year long.

Thankfully, the mortal body was a resilient thing, and centuries of living in these conditions have taught the residents how to withstand the hellish chill. It was rather unfortunate that the same could not be said about foreign visitors, though, Dimitri thought wryly.

He suppressed a wince as another explosive sneeze came from the new Queen of Brigid, who shivered alarmingly beneath her green, wool cloak.

"I-I-I am s-s-s-sorry f-for my l-lacking of m-m-manners," Petra muttered in sync with the chattering of her teeth, her trembling hands rubbing against each other in a futile attempt for warmth. "A-a-as I w-was s-s-saying, w-we—_ACHOO!_"

It was the first time that Dimitri has seen her this helpless. Leaning against his velvet high-backed chair, he let his gaze flicker from Dedue in the seat to his left, to Sylvain, Ingrid, Felix and Annette on the middle settee, before landing on Ashe, who sat next to Petra in the other—all of them had the same concerned look, albeit in varying degrees.

There was a knock on the parlor door.

"Ah, finally," Dimitri exclaimed, as servants came in with the tray of tea he had asked for. He signaled to one to distribute the tea cups, while another added more wood to the fireplace.

Turning to Petra, he said, "Please, drink it while it's warm. It should help with the chill."

"Th-th-thank you v-very m-m-much."

Arm draped protectively around his companion, Ashe helped steady her hands as she took a generous gulp of the warm drink. The intimacy of the action was not lost on the group, and Dimitri saw Annette blush from the corner of his eye.

It had been a big surprise to many when Ashe announced his decision to serve the young queen after the war. After all, he had been poised to become a lord as Lonato's sole survivor, and this drastic change in fortune did not come easily to many men. It had appeared unwise and even ungrateful to pass up on such a rare opportunity in order to pledge servitude to someone else. But Dimitri had seen the fleeting glances the two had shared, the extra fierceness with which they had fought when the other was in peril. That was why he already expected Ashe's decision, and he couldn't be prouder of him for it.

"Thank you for receiving us, despite the lateness of the day, Your Majesty. We had planned on arriving earlier, but the journey to Fhirdiad hadn't exactly been kind." Ashe rubbed Petra's back as a cough rattled through her frame. "We weren't interrupting dinner, I hope?"

Dimitri shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a warm half-smile. "No, we had just finished when you arrived. But, come now, Ashe, there you go being formal again. Be careful, or else I would assume you did not think of me as a friend."

Ashe colored beneath the slight tan that now covered his features. "Oh, sorry, I—"

Sylvain chuckled. "Yeah, Ashe, it's only been what? Two months? It hasn't been that long since we were fighting side-by-side on the battlefield. Don't you know you usually wait for at least half a year before you could treat others like strangers?" He winked. "For girls, though, it's normally longer."

This earned him a glower from Ingrid.

"It was a joke," Sylvain raised his hands in defense.

Felix heaved a sigh of exasperation. Looking at Ashe, he asked, "So, how can we help Brigid? I assume you two didn't travel all this way to listen to this fool." He pointed to Sylvain.

Dimitri heard Petra say something, but did not have a chance to process it. He closed his eye and braced himself as his heart began its quick, inevitable crescendo at the reference to the war. From somewhere far away he could hear them coming—the familiar chorus of bloodcurdling screams. The metallic clang of swords. The coppery smell of gore and death. They were growing louder and louder with every breath. Getting closer and closer until they surrounded him. Goosepimples covered his skin. The screams loud against his ear.

_DIMITRI! DIMITRI! DIMI—_

_No, I will not succumb anymore_. He knew what he had to do. With every ounce of willpower, he forced his body to block off the swirling abyss that threatened to encroach him. He guided his shaking hand to his waistcoat pocket and grabbed onto the small leather pouch inside, as though it was the only thing that tethered him to his sanity. Beads of cold sweat formed on his upper lip with the effort it took to control the shudders that ran through his body.

A few deep tumultuous breaths later, the darkness finally started to recede until the screams were only a faint sound from afar.

He felt a surge of pride at yet another successful attempt at controlling his lapses. It was a slow progress, for sure, but there seemed to be hope for him yet.

"Your Majesty?" came a low whisper from his left.

Dimitri opened his eye to see Dedue's face made even more grim with worry. A quick scan of the others told him that they were too engrossed with the conversation to notice. Relieved, he answered in an identical whisper, "I'm fine, Dedue. Truly."

His friend gave a small nod, and quickly went on as if nothing happened. He knew how much Dimitri disliked attracting unnecessary attention to these occurrences.

"Thank you," Dimitri silently added. He slowly released his grip on the leather pouch, chagrined to see his fingers were still shaking. Blotting the sweat with his sleeve, he shifted his attention to the discussion before him.

"… In that case, Ashe, I would gladly help you establish the first Order of Knights in Brigid," Ingrid was saying, her green eyes twinkling under her blond fringe. "As the Sword of Faerghus, I would be honored to contribute to this endeavor."

"Really? That would be great, Ingrid!" Ashe looked so excited he almost fell from his seat.

"I-I knew I could b-be counting in y-your help, Ingrid." Petra said, in between sniffles.

"That is, if His Majesty is okay with this." Ingrid suddenly glanced at Dimitri, the rest following suit.

Still a bit dazed and disoriented, he could only nod his assent. It was fortunate he had joined the conversation when he did.

Ingrid beamed. "There, that's settled, then. Let me know when you plan to depart, so I could—"

Sylvain bolted upright at this. "Wait, wait, wait. Slow down there, oh mighty Sword of Faerghus. Aren't you forgetting something here? Like, maybe talking to your husband first—"

"Fiancé," Ingrid corrected.

"Fine, _fiancé_… for now," Sylvain muttered, raking a hand through his ruddy hair. "Still, shouldn't we talk about this first, before you go ahead and agree to an expedition to the South?"

"What's there to talk about? The King has given his permission."

"Well, for one, by the time you finish there in say, four to six months, I'd probably be off to Sreng territory to initiate peace talks."

"Yes, there's nothing strange about that. I'd be doing my job as the Captain of the Kingdom Knights, and you'd do yours as the Margrave Gautier." Ingrid crossed her arms primly in that way she always did whenever she had scolded Dimitri, Sylvain or Felix as children. "Just as we agreed, right?"

"B-but—the wedding—"

"The establishment of the Brigid Knights would no doubt solidify the country's independence. Surely, that takes precedence, right? Sadly, I have no choice but to postpone the wedding until both of us are back." Ingrid gave her fiancé a slow, teasing smile, and it became clear that she knew what waiting would do to him. It was almost as if she was finally getting back at him for all the times she had cleaned up after his mess.

Sylvain looked momentarily speechless, and it was so comical that Dimitri laughed despite himself.

Annette giggled, setting down her teacup. "I can't say you don't deserve it, Sylvain."

"Waiting would do good for a libertine like you," Felix smirked, his hand casually cradling Annette's, their wedding bands gleaming in the firelight.

"Hey, _retired_ libertine, mind you. And, okay, fine, what's a few months, anyway? She and I would be done with our tasks in no time."

"Actually, Sylvain, if you calculated it, it would be around a year or so before everything settles down," Annette enumerated her points with her free hand. "Ingrid goes to Brigid for four to six months. You go to Sreng and do your dealings for around four to six months, as well. That totals to around eight months to a year."

Sylvain looked slightly deflated. "Huh." He raised a brow at Ingrid's direction. "Do you think you could survive without me for almost a year? You could barely keep your hands off of me as it is—"

"Don't make me hurt you, Sylvain."

"—Try not to cry when you miss me too much. I'll write you every day and fill my letters with kisses."

"_Sylvain_."

"Spare me from this pointless conversation, will you? If everything's settled with Brigid, I think we're done here." Felix scowled. He stood up abruptly, and locked eyes with Dimitri. "Annette and I will be leaving for home before sunrise tomorrow, so we'll be turning in for the night. Make sure you don't get yourself killed on your way southward."

"I will definitely try."

Annette gave everyone a round of goodbyes, before she suddenly pivoted towards Dedue. "Oh, I almost forgot," she handed over a small, slightly crumpled envelope from her pocket, "Would you please give it to Mercie? I've missed her so much."

"Of course." Dedue nodded.

"Thanks… and good luck." Annette smiled meaningfully, before making a beeline towards Felix, who was waiting at the doorway, his eyes never leaving hers.

Dimitri could have sworn that Dedue just blushed at Annette's words. Fighting back a telling grin, he directed his gaze at his guests. "Petra, Ashe, I'm certain the long journey to Fhirdiad has been tiring, so I've arranged for your rooms in the West Wing. We will be leaving for Garreg Mach tomorrow, but please, you are welcome to stay for as long as you like. "

"T-thank you, Dimitri. B-Brigid w-will be r-returning this g-generosity in kind w-when you visit," Petra stood up, a trembling hand outstretched. "P-Please be s-sending my h-hello to the Professor."

"We took a detour so we weren't able to visit the Monastery on our way here, but we will definitely visit on our way back." Ashe said. "Please extend my warm regards to the Professor, as well, Your Majesty."

It was amusing that no one called her the Archbishop; it seemed that she would always be the beloved professor to them.

_Except to me—she's my Queen now_. _She's mine._

Giving himself a slight shake, Dimitri tried to reel in the possessive thoughts as he crossed the room and accepted Petra's handshake.

"Your Majesty, let me direct them to the West Wing." Ingrid said, extracting herself from the settee. "There are some things I would like to discuss about the plans for Brigid."

"I would appreciate that. Thank you, Ingrid." Dimitri's eye flickered to Dedue. "My friend, I hope I could burden you with making one of your tonics for Petra. I want to make sure she doesn't take ill from the weather."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The four of them left the room without ceremony, the halls suddenly filled with the excited exchanges between Petra, Ashe and Ingrid. However, Dimitri didn't miss the cursory glance that Dedue gave him and Sylvain before leaving.

"Astute as always, that Dedue," Sylvain said, leaning back on the settee, arms crossed. "Do you think he noticed?"

"Perhaps, but knowing him, his curiosity mostly stems from worry than from anything else." Dimitri walked towards the fireplace, hoping the warmth would cast away the mortification he felt from what he was about to share. "…I assume you're wondering why I asked you to meet with me. I apologize for the lateness; I had thought we would get an opportunity to talk after dinner. I hadn't expected visitors."

"Well, it's not every day I receive a note from my King, asking me to 'see him for a discussion of utmost discretion.' You really know how to make someone curious, don't you, Your Majesty?"

Dimitri couldn't find it in him to reciprocate Sylvain's lighthearted tone. Instead, he reached inside his waistcoat pocket, hand grasping the leather pouch. "I need your advice."

"Advice? About what?"

_Goddess preserve me_. "About… intimate relations." Inhaling sharply, he blurted out, "Byleth is a virgin."

When there was no response, Dimitri turned around to see Sylvain's confused expression.

Sylvain said uncertainly, "You mean, she _was_ a virgin, right?"

"No, she still is. I… did not touch her during our wedding night."

"Why not?"

"I—I did not know how to. I would not risk hurting her, lest I do something wrong." There was another reason, but Dimitri didn't dare open that part of him to anyone else.

Sylvain's brows shot upward as realization dawned. "You mean, you're also—"

"Of course. You know it's not honorable to partake in that certain pleasure before you're married… Though, I guess I would be the last person to talk about honor given the wretched things I've done." His hand gripped the pouch tighter. "But even as I had descended into madness, even as I had killed and tortured, it has always been _her_. It could never be anyone else."

He had spent five years as a lunatic, an empty husk fueled solely by blind hatred. But one look at Byleth back in the monastery had been enough to revive the stirrings of desire that he thought died along with his humanity—feelings that he had tried his best to push away, as he feverishly pursued his futile campaign against Edelgard. But soon enough, they had proven to be too strong, strong enough to overpower the black fury that had corrupted him.

"Yeah, you've always been in love with her, have you? Even before the war, it was obvious to anyone with eyes how you were head over heels for the gorgeous new teacher. I can't blame you, almost half of the male population in the monastery wanted her, too."

A violent surge of jealousy almost made Dimitri reach out and throttle his friend at the remark. "Does that include you or Felix?" He demanded.

Sylvain chuckled. "Goddess, no. I hated her back then. Or rather, I hated how she was using a crest without having to pay for it, unlike us. It was stupid and misguided, of course, and I know that now; just because I never saw it, doesn't mean she never suffered for the power she was given. But I was young and too consumed in my own affairs to think through my feelings." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "For Felix, I think he really just admired her skill and power, nothing more."

"Oh," Dimitri turned away, embarrassed at his jealous outburst. His cheek felt scalding beneath his eyepatch. "In any case, how can you help me with my… predicament?"

"… There are certain oils that you could use to ease the discomfort of her first time. There's a vendor selling them near a village in the outskirts of the Monastery. Since I'll be accompanying you to Garreg Mach, anyway, I could get them for you."

Dimitri eyed Sylvain suspiciously. "How do you know this?"

Another chuckle. "Make up your mind, Your Majesty. Do you want me to help you or not?"

Dimitri sighed. "Fine, yes, I would appreciate having those at my disposal. But… how about the rest? How do I make sure I do it properly?"

Sylvain's ocher eyes were warm with brotherly affection. "You just follow your instincts. You should be alright."

_Just follow my instincts? If you only know what my instincts are telling me, Sylvain, you would think twice before saying that again._

Sighing, Dimitri leaned against his bed, but found no comfort in the column of pillows at his back. His body was too agitated, the ends of his nerves straining at some potent force.

He knew what it was—what his body craved. He has been like this every night for the past two months.

_Byleth…_

Sylvain must have thought that he was an innocent. It was true that he was inexperienced, that he has saved that part of himself for Byleth, but he was no innocent. Far from it.

He looked into the dimness of his bedroom, which was illuminated by a low candlelight. His pulse quickened as he focused his gaze at the doorframe to the left of the unlit fireplace, directly across the bed. Her connecting room was just beyond it.

_"__Dimitri?"_

_He turned at the sound of her voice. And in a split-second, he felt as if something knocked all the breath from his lungs, with so much force that his heart was left careening against his ribcage._

_He could see Byleth's entire body underneath her silk chemise. It was a sorry excuse for a garment that covered only up to the middle of her supple thighs, leaving her arms and legs exposed. But it was its thin, diaphanous material that really caused his downfall._

_Holly hells, he could see the dusky rose of her nipples, and his mouth watered with the need to taste them._

_He imagined ripping the chemise until it was a discarded pile of cloth at their feet. He would lift one heavy globe in his hand, testing its large weight, and lean forward to capture a nub. She would feel glorious in his mouth, he was certain of it, and he would let his tongue swirl around the nipple, tease it, until it became pert from his attention. Then, he would suck it. Over and over again until she was writhing against him. He would suck on it so hard it would turn pink and raw from the force of it. The beast inside him needed to imprint his caress onto her body. There should be no question as to whom she belonged to._

_She's mine. She's mine. She's mine._

With unsteady hands, Dimitri unbuttoned the flap of his breeches. His breath hissed as he took the already-pulsing weight of his cock in a tight grip.

_After he had his way with one breast, his lips would do the same to the other. He wouldn't leave the previous one alone, though. No, he wouldn't be that kind. His fingers would continue his assault—grazing, twirling, lightly pinching, all in sync with his tongue. He would continue mercilessly until she was a whimpering mess in his arms, her beautiful face drunk with the beginnings of pleasure, and yearning for something she would not understand—something that only he could give._

He started ramming his fist up and down his hard, throbbing cock, while the other held the sheets against it. Shame crept its way in his foggy mind, but it was a weak, ineffectual thing compared to the roar of lust in his veins.

_He would lay her on the carpet, like a pagan sacrifice waiting to be consumed. It would be so easy then to part her legs and penetrate her, to finally claim her as his own, but he had dreamed of this for so long that he would be damned if he didn't take his time._

_He would lick his way from her chest, down to her soft, flat stomach, reveling in the silky texture of her skin, before continuing downwards._

_Would she resist? Would she cry out in embarrassment if he spread her thighs apart and nestled his face in between? Would she gasp in shock if she felt his tongue there, at that forbidden place that no one else has touched?_

Dimitri bit out a curse. The surge of possessiveness he felt almost brought him over the edge. A long, thick line of his seed trickled down his fist, and he willed himself to slow down his tempo. He couldn't climax yet.

_He would make love to her with his tongue. He would find that fabled woman's part, that little nubbin that was said to house a woman's pleasure, and he would be relentless in his ministrations. He would not stop until she moaned his name in that way that he had never heard of. Until her thighs convulsed as she broke apart under him._

_Until she finally experienced ecstasy for the first time._

_And then, only then would he rise on his knees and start to enter her._

It was at this point that he let himself go. His fist pumped from his thick shaft all the way to the bulbous tip in rapid succession. Streaks of sweat traveled from his forehead down to the fabric of his blue banyan shirt. Tension was coiling in his belly, his balls already drawn tight.

_He would break her maidenhead in one swift stroke. He would kiss the tears from her eyes, would murmur whispers of apology in her ear. But he knew that he could not go slow once he has entered her slick, virginal heat. The hot, white pleasure would be too great for him—it would shatter his control._

_It would not be long before the beast took over. And he would be single-mindedly focused on one thing: impregnating her._

_The room would be filled with the sounds of flesh colliding with flesh as he rode her without mercy, without thought. Moans and pleas would both fall in deaf ears. Nothing else would matter to the monster but the stroke of his greedy cock within her sheath. The pleasure that was building up in his groin._

_He was going to fill her with his seed._

_He was so close._

_So close. So—_

"Byleth—!"

Dimitri threw his head back as he roared his wife's name into the night. He stopped breathing; his body suspended in a solid arch against the crumpled sheets, held in place by one straining hand. Sheets that were now ruined with his sticky seed, his cock still pulsating with the remainder of his orgasm.

At some point, he had collapsed in a supine position, limbs numb and lifeless. He couldn't remember how long he stayed that way before his consciousness returned in slow degrees.

He has had the same fantasy for over two months now—the fantasy of how he had wanted his wedding night to go. Instead, he had blown out the candles, waited for his wife to fall asleep, before taking his pleasure with his hand in the comfort room.

Pathetic though it may seem, it was better this way. He couldn't risk showing his wife the extent of his depravity. There was no guarantee that he would not hurt her once the beast took control. She has already gone through so much for his sake; he couldn't bear the shame of hurting her more than he already has.

Letting his head roll to the side, he saw the brown leather pouch on the nightstand. It had her sea-green locks inside it, a memento he had asked for before she went back to Garreg Mach. A lucky charm, he had said.

If only that lucky charm was enough to shield her from his savage desires.


	3. The Shopping Trip

_16__th__day of the Wyvern Moon, 1185_

_Garreg Mach Monastery_

Shopping was apparently the first step in the process of seduction. And this, Byleth thought sleepily, was exactly why she now found herself all dressed up in her traveling clothes on a day off, even though dawn was still hours away.

She recalled what Hilda had said days ago, when she and Marianne had bidden her goodbye. "Anything worthwhile always starts with a bit of shopping, my dear Professor."

Then, as promised, Hilda had handed over two notes that bore her horrendous handwriting. The first one was a short shopping list, while the second was a missive audaciously entitled, '_How to Seduce Your Husband: A Guide by Hilda Valentine Goneril Aegir_.'

If Byleth weren't so groggy, she would have laughed at the memory. Instead, she gave a loud, unladylike yawn, and moved towards the wax candle that was perched on her writing desk. She picked up the list right next to it, and angled herself so she could get enough light to read it again.

_Available at Severin's, located at the Leige Town, County of Charon. (Look for a small shop with a red roof and a big sign. Near Tuttlebuck's Tavern.)_

1\. _Rouge for cheeks_

2\. _Perfume - Recommended: __'Orchid's Whisper'__ 'Lavender's Caress'_

3\. _Tint for lips_

4\. _Rose soap_

5\. _Silk chemise - At least 3, preferably red or violet_

6\. _1 jar of bridal oil - Keep near your bed in case of a successful seduction (Dimitri should know how to use this.)_

Her gaze lingered on the last item on the list, the bridal oil. Supposedly, it was only available at this specific shop, and was the sole reason why she had to brave what would undoubtedly be a cold, uncomfortable flight to Charon.

She never really liked riding a wyvern or a pegasus, having preferred the land over the skies, but she didn't have the luxury of choice. Hilda had been adamant that she bought this, even though the rest of the items could easily be procured in the town near Garreg Mach.

"You need it for, you know, for the act. When you two—" Hilda had gestured vaguely with her hands. "—finally do it." She had leaned a fraction of an inch forward, her tone suddenly mirthless. "Seriously, Professor, promise me that you'll buy it. It'd be so much easier for you, and you might even end up liking your first time."

The prospect of a greasy hug hadn't appealed to Byleth one bit, even if it was with Dimitri. She had difficulty wrapping her head around the fact that couples actually performed this weird, embarrassing ritual willingly. But if that's what was needed for them to have children, then so be it.

With an air of resignation, she had promised Hilda that she would, indeed, make the journey to Charon for this mysterious oil, to her friend's palpable relief.

Which brought her to the present.

_I guess I'll find out what's so important about it soon enough_, she thought. She folded the piece of paper and placed it in the pocket of her cloak, making sure that she buttoned it closed. Taking the candle, she padded her way to the oak door, and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, effectively obscuring her face in the shadows. She had to be careful; no one should know that the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros was traipsing around Fodlan in search for intimate wares. Poor Seteth would expire on the spot.

She smiled at that, and slowly pushed the door open.

It opened with a low, rumbling creak, cutting through the silence of the night like a rapier. The autumn cold immediately clung to her the second she set foot out of her room, and she regretted not wearing something more substantial than her usual black square-necked bodice, riding trousers and a brown wool cloak. She should have added another layer of clothing, she realized, but it would be too late to go back now. She had to leave if she were to get back before mid-day; anything later than that would alert people of her absence.

Wrapping her cloak tighter against her body, she hastily forged on, the heels of her ebony calfskin boots making a rapid staccato on the rough, cobblestone path. It wouldn't be the first time she had gone out at an ungodly hour, but it still unnerved her how the shadows seemed to dance about, as though they were spirits summoned by the glow of her candlelight.

_I'm starting to sound like Ashe_. Giving in to an amused grin, she turned right towards the dormitory, which now served as a temporary shelter for displaced orphans. She could hear the soft snores of some of the children as she strode past the rooms, and without even looking at the nameplates, she knew who occupied which, could imagine their faces as she recited their names in her head—Rhys, Julian, Win, Kev, Aline, Vincent, Sebastian, and her favorite, Evie.

They would greet her with their usual bright smiles and burst of energy when she visited them later that day, and Byleth felt her chest tighten with affection. It was the best thing about her work as Archbishop, having the power to preserve these smiles and give them the opportunity for a better future.

Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, she leisurely wondered what specialty sweets could be found in Charon. It would be the first time she'd go there. Some glazed strawberries would be nice, though she guessed anything with chocolate would be a safer choice for the kids, especially for the younger ones who haven't developed a taste for fruits yet. She could imagine Kev and Julian's nose scrunching up at a box of strawberries.

Chocolate it was, then.

With this in mind, she went left just before reaching the way to the greenhouse, sweeping past the small, wooden shack at the fishing docks, only pausing when she saw the unmistakable glow of another candlelight from the distance.

He was early, Byleth thought, feeling a bit guilty at making her friend wait in the dead of night. Not to mention in this cold.

"Alm," she whispered the instant she got within earshot. "How long have you been standing there? Sorry, am I late?"

The former gatekeeper turned, his face splitting into his usual sincere smile. "Greetings, Professor—Oops, I mean, Archbishop. Sorry, force of habit." He gave a sheepish look. "Don't worry, I just got here, actually. You're right on time."

It's been a month since he was promoted to the position of the Archbishop's personal guard. Someone had to the fill in the role, as the former one had dutifully followed Rhea in her retirement. It was a need borne out of tradition rather than necessity, sure, but Byleth was more than happy to recommend Alm for it, knowing full well the increased benefits it entailed.

Without the helmet, her companion's dark green hair looked almost black in the dim lighting. It fell over his forehead, despite his efforts at keeping them tucked behind his ears, making him look positively boyish. Byleth was finding it hard to believe that he was almost twice her age.

Alm took her candle and put off his own, so that there was only one light burning faintly around them. Starting towards the stone-walled path leading to the stables, he whispered, "You're not bringing the Sword of the Creator, Archbishop?"

"Please, I told you, 'Byleth' is fine. And no, it wouldn't be wise. People would immediately recognize me if I brought it along." Byleth patted the small scabbard on her hip, which was visible through the opening of her cloak. "I have a dagger with me, though."

"Oh, yes, I suppose that _would_ be a dead giveaway." Releasing a small chuckle, Alm guided her around a nondescript crack on the ground. "As your guard, I swear on my sword that I'll keep you safe… is what I should say, and something I would sincerely mean, but we all know you could outpower me and your foes combined with a single swing of your dagger."

Byleth wasn't sure of that, sliding him an assessing glance. He was only slightly taller than she was, with a frame that would be considered regular and unremarkable, but there was no mistaking the latent power she had sensed from him from their first meeting. "Alm, you said you're not from Fodlan, right? I don't think I've asked before, but what brought you here?"

His shoulders stiffened ever so slightly that she wasn't sure if it was merely a trick of the light. She didn't even think he'd heard her question, until he suddenly spoke, his voice holding a wistful tone that she'd only ever heard after her father's death. "Yes, I'm from… outside of Fodlan. Years ago, a great war ravaged my homeland in a way not too different from what happened here. So many lives cut too short. So much blood needlessly spilled. My cousin was among those who perished." His voice cracked a bit, and he was silent for a few seconds before adding, "He was a prideful man, but I couldn't fault him for wanting the things he did. He simply tried reaching farther than the gods allowed."

She didn't say anything, but merely waited for him to continue.

"Immediately after the end of the war, my wife and I discovered the existence of a newborn he'd conceived with his betrothed. But it was too late. She'd already been smuggled out of the country by then, most likely by one of his advisors or men. I ventured out to search for her."

Byleth staggered to a stop. All these years, she'd never known any of this, much more the fact that he had a wife in some foreign land. He had simply been the gatekeeper, greeting her in that lighthearted way she'd grown accustomed to.

She hesitated to probe further, feeling like a voyeur peeking into something that was clearly not intended for her, but it was too late to rein in her curiosity. She blurted out, "Smuggled? Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"I can't pretend to understand, even now. But what I do know is that the baby and her captor somehow found their way here, where she was raised as an orphan. After years of piecing together hints and leads scattered throughout Fodlan, I found out that she was given a Crest through some sort of experimentation." He motioned for them to continue walking.

_Lysithea… Edelgard…_

Byleth felt her hands tighten into fists at her sides, her temper flaring at the idea of yet another life pointlessly ruined by Crest experiments. She quietly swore to put a stop to them once and for all.

Alm must have sensed her anger, because his tone was considerably lighter when he said, "Please, there's no need to be incensed on my behalf, Professor. She turned out fine, and has recently married well. From the looks of it, it even appears to be a love match."

She let out a shaky breath, but her heart still pounded in beat with her step. "Did she ever know about her family? About you?"

He shook his head. "No, she has no knowledge about any of this, nor is there any need to burden her with it. She's happy now, and that's all that matters. Joy is so fragile, after all. Who's to say I would be robbing her of it with the truth?"

Byleth was about to question that, when the tell-tale smell of earth and animals heralded their arrival at the stables. A frisson of alarm shot through her system the instant she saw light emanating from the entrance door that was left slightly ajar. Her hand flew to the hilt of her dagger, and she saw Alm echoing the motion from her periphery. Female whispers, too softly spoken to be deciphered from where they stood, flowed from the room, accompanied by a set of loud neighs.

They exchanged nods, and let their feet carry them silently towards the doorway.

"Oh, come now, don't nibble on my hair like so, Luna. You'll ruin it."

_That voice_—

All tension left Byleth's body in a fierce _whoosh_ of her breath. What in the world was _she_ doing here?

Without warning, she pulled open the door, earning her a sharp gasp from Flayn, who'd been absorbed with caressing the muzzle of her favorite pegasus. The rows of other pegasi, wyverns and horses skittered nervously in their stalls, whinnying their surprise at the sudden entrance.

Flayn's eyes were luminous green saucers as she thrusted her Caduceus Staff defensively in front of her. Why was she on the offense?

Byleth called out uncertainly, "Flayn?"

A spark of recognition, then a flood of relief crossed the girl's face.

"G-good heavens, Professor, you frightened me! I daresay, I thought you were a ruffian with the way your face is hidden underneath your hood." Visibly shaken, Flayn's chest rose and fell with her quick breaths. She loosened her hold on her staff.

Byleth felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to completely erase the accusation in her question. "Sorry, but why are you here?"

"A-apologies, I… I overhead you talking to Alm yesterday afternoon, before I came in for tea. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but when I heard you mentioning a trip to Charon, I could not help myself." Breathing still shallow, Flayn lowered her eyes demurely to the ground. "I would very much appreciate it if you let me accompany you. I've never been to Charon, you see."

Ah, so, that was why she'd behaved strangely all afternoon. "Why didn't you mention it yesterday?"

Flayn hesitated for a heartbeat. "I thought I had a better chance at convincing you to bring me along if I did it now." Her eyes met Byleth's and she could have sworn there was a mischievous gleam in their depths. "Was I correct?"

Byleth sighed, fully aware that Alm was controlling a chuckle next to her. "What about Seteth? There's no way he'd be okay with this."

"Well, I left him a note, saying I was accompanying you and Alm on a shopping trip outside of Garreg Mach. I… may have left out the detail of how far from the Monastery we would actually be." Flayn gave an impish grin.

Byleth's gut was saying that did not bode well, but if Flayn was willing to go to such extent, then she must have really wanted to come with her.

She capitulated with a nod.

"Yay, splendid! I've already prepared our mounts, Professor. I'll be taking Luna, and I assume Cerulean and Stygian would do for you and Alm?"

Again, another nod.

Indeed, Luna, Cerulean, both pegasi, and Stygian, Seteth's favored wyvern, were already outfitted with the standard saddle, noseband and reins. Byleth would have voiced her admiration of Flayn's handiwork if only she didn't feel hoodwinked into this.

Alm spoke up, amusement laced with every word. "Please, ladies, you can wait outside. I'll bring our mounts there."

They did as he suggested, Flayn practically skipping out of the door. Her excitement for this trip was very contagious, and it didn't take long before Byleth also found herself thinking of all the snacks she would buy, and the accessories she would try out. Surely, Severin's had those, as well.

In a few minutes, they flew off, and just in time for sunrise to break through the darkness of the night. It was quite a lovely sight, like one of Ignatz's paintings—splashes of pink, yellow and orange blending in perfect harmony across a pastel blue canvass. It almost distracted Byleth from the biting cold that ate away at every exposed inch of her skin.

Almost.

_"__Are you okay?"_ Alm bellowed from her left.

_"__I'm fine,"_ she shouted back, _"just freezing!"_

Flayn's gleeful squeal floated from behind, _"This is so much fun! Professor, look to your right! I see Gronder Field!"_

And they went on as such, with Flayn and Byleth occasionally noting some of the places they'd been to during the war, and Alm sharing the path he'd taken before arriving at Garreg Mach years ago. The cold gradually became bearable as the sun settled on its rightful position high above the sky, but they still shivered every now and then, whenever a particularly icy gust of wind assailed them.

Approximately an hour would pass before they caught sight of the Oghma Mountains, signaling their close proximity to Charon.

_"__See that break in the mountain range there?"_ Alm pointed at the low point in the cluster of mountains in front. _"According to the map I read, we have to pass through that to arrive in Charon! Leige should be somewhere to its south!"_

Trepidation thrummed through Byleth's veins as she guided Cerulean to where Alm pointed. It was a steep clearing, she noted, compelling her to shout a warning to her companions.

_"__Don't worry, Professor! It's wide enough to accommodate us!"_ Then, without preamble, Flayn accelerated with breakneck speed, and expertly swiveled Luna sideways. She passed through the clearing with ease.

A laugh bubbled from the back of Byleth's throat while she and Alm copied the pivot with their respective mounts._ If Seteth were to see this, he'd faint on the spot._

In a matter of seconds, they were greeted with a breathtaking view of Charon. Most of the roofs of the houses and commercial structures were painted from different shades of blue, no doubt in honor of the Kingdom, and this made the entire County look like a big body of water three times the size of Garreg Mach.

They started their descent towards the small town to the south. The nearer they got, the clearer everything became—the small forms of the residents as they went to and fro the streets; the wooden carts bearing a variety of produce and goods scattered here and there; and the presence of animals, ranging from cats and dogs to horses, lending the surroundings a homely, provincial feeling.

It was easy to locate exactly where Severin's was—it was the only establishment with a blatantly red roof—and was perfectly situated near the only grassy field in the town, making landing very easy.

Byleth made sure her hood was pulled over her head as she alighted from Cerulean, and handed over its rein to Alm, who tethered it, along with their other mounts to a nearby wooden log.

"Goodness, I am beyond excited! Where should we go first? Shall we go buy snacks? Oh, how about clothes?" Flayn's gaze flitted animatedly from one shop to the next, as she clearly couldn't make up her mind.

Alm sidled up next to them, and pointed at Severin's. "That's where we're going, right, Professor?"

Byleth nodded, and prompted her companions to follow her to it.

"Severin's Secret Specialty Shop." Flayn read the sign as they stopped at the storefront. "Ooh, this definitely sounds more interesting than Loretta's Assorted Goods. There must be some rare items here!"

"You two ladies take your time inside. I'll stay out here and keep watch," Alm said.

"Are you sure?" Byleth asked, her hand pausing at the brass handle.

"Yes, don't worry about me, Professor. I used to be a gatekeeper, and keeping watch for any sign of danger is what I'm good at." Smiling, he firmly planted himself on the side of the entryway. "Just yell if something's wrong or if you need anything."

Thanking her friend, Byleth went inside, a curious Flayn at her heels.

A small bell attached to the door clanged obnoxiously, drawing the attention of the shopkeeper. She looked considerably old, perhaps around six or seven decades in age, if her thinning white hair, abundant wrinkles, and thick spectacles were anything to go by. She gave a feeble "Welcome," before dozing off again at her seat behind the counter.

Wooden panels filled with different merchandise—perfume bottles of different sizes, cakes of soap, jars, accessories, make-up—lined the walls of the small enclosure. Baskets holding sets of silk clothing festooned the space in front of the counter, and Byleth didn't waste time ticking off items from Hilda's shopping list.

"Oh, Professor, look," Flayn suddenly exclaimed from the corner. She held up what looked like a stone replica of a large cucumber.

"What's that?"

"It's, uh—" Flayn glanced back at the shelf to read the handwritten label. "It's an olisbos." She turned to Byleth's direction, her eyes shimmering with barely-restrained elation. "I once saw this in Manuela's room, and she said that it's a charm that is supposed to bring you luck in love and fertility. It's your dream to have children, yes? Perhaps if you had one, it could help you achieve your goal faster."

Byleth stared at the oddly-shaped statuette and noticed that the cucumber had a rounded top, almost like a spherical hat. She's never seen anything like it. It must be a symbol of some sort, or a deity of a foreign religion. Regardless of what it was, she decided she wouldn't lose anything by believing in it. In fact, she needed all the help she could get.

"Okay, I'll get it," she smiled, taking the olisbos and placing it on the counter, next to the bridal oils and other purchases.

The first phase of seduction was now done, she thought happily. Onwards to the next.


	4. The Night in the Woods

_22__nd__ day of the Wyvern Moon, 1185_

_Latten Forest, Oghma Mountains_

"Whose bright idea was it to camp out in the woods again and pass up on a perfectly comfortable bed in Chatteris's mansion?"

Sylvain had said this jokingly, but Dimitri noted, with no small amount of guilt, that there was a tone of exhaustion that accompanied the remark. The days of pitching tents and sleeping on hard ground had finally taken their toll on his friend.

_Should I really have accepted the offer?_

Lord Chatteris, the Earl of Charon, had insisted that they stay in his residence as they made their way southward, but Dimitri knew too well what that entailed: diplomatic calls to lesser lords, a grand tour of the estates, and, goddess save him, a bloody banquet. Basically, unnecessary things that would have derailed their journey for a good four to five days.

Up to this point, Dimitri had been successful at dodging these offers from other lords, and Lord Chatteris had been no different. Sure, one might argue that these were rightfully expected from the King, and under different circumstances, he would have found it inside him to push through with the political requirements of his station. But he had already gone through over two months without seeing his wife, and he would be damned if he would let anything—_anything_—delay him further.

Another four to five days without Byleth? Ridiculous.

Not to mention just downright unbearable.

With this in mind, he had firmly turned down the Earl's offer, and boldly declared that the group were to travel from Charon down to the Oghma Mountains, after a very brief respite in the city. There was said to be a shortcut in the mountains that would lead them directly to the outskirts of Garreg Mach once crossed.

It had seemed like a reasonable decision at the time, and the group _did_ find the shortcut. However, the path had stretched farther than they had initially thought, and they quickly realized that it would be beyond the realm of realism to expect that they would arrive at the Monastery by nightfall.

No, they would have to spend the night in the woods.

Again.

Dimitri shifted on his seat and gave his surroundings a wry, cursory glance. They had been too exhausted to put up tents tonight, and merely laid out their makeshift beds fashioned out of some extra cloaks around the small campfire.

To his left, he could see Sylvain yawning in the dim light, his back against a tree trunk for support, and legs sprawled gracelessly about, clearly oblivious to the fact that his ruddy hair was sticking up in all directions.

Dedue, on the other hand, looked marginally better. His usual rough-hewn features looked calm and collected, but the unmistakable slouch in his posture as he sat across him betrayed his fatigue. Dedue never slouched.

And he? At the thought, Dimitri ran his hand across his face, suddenly conscious. He was chagrined to feel the rough patches of hair that covered his entire jaw, his cheeks, upper lip, chin, stretching down to his upper neck. He frowned. These were definitely days' worth of growth. Another look at his friends told him that they apparently had the decency to shave during their travels, while he had been too focused at getting to Garreg Mach as fast as possible. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

He looked down and even in the faint lighting, he could see dark splotches of dirt decorating his cloak and breeches, along with an inch thick of mud caking his boots. Brows furrowing, he took a tentative sniff of his cloak.

His wrinkled his nose in disgust. He positively reeked of dried sweat and horse dung. Good gods, what was he thinking going to Garreg Mach like this?

"Your Majesty, there's a lake at the foot of the mountains. It's connected to the one that runs up to the village near Garreg Mach, so villagers often go to it. But if we go there before sunrise, we should be able to use it without being interrupted." Dedue said, observant as always.

"That's relief. I desperately need a bath and a shave." Dimitri shrugged his cloak off and reached for a fresh one in one of his satchels.

"_We_ need a bath," Sylvain corrected, leaning away from the trunk and turning to his companions. "Pardon my bluntness, Your Majesty, but we stink. It's been three days since we left Ingrid's estate and we haven't stopped to bathe since. A change of clothes could only do so much." Planting his elbows onto his knees, he chuckled. "Earlier, old lady Severin actually looked disapprovingly at me when I was about to pay – and she's more than seven decades old! If she was able to smell me, then I must have stank indeed."

A corner of Dimitri's mouth quirked up. "Sorry about that, Sylvain. In my haste to go to the Monastery, I forgot to check if we were even fit for polite company. I should have made sure we passed by a lake on the way to Charon." Admittedly, he only factored distance in his choice of route; the shortest, fastest way was chosen. His grin vanished when he realized something. "How did Lord Chatteris react? I admit my mind was preoccupied with charting and planning our way through Oghma to pay attention to our brief meeting with him."

"Oh, the Earl was political through and through. He didn't let on much, not even a twitch of the brow, but the Countess wasn't as masterful, I'm afraid. She looked scandalized the second she met us, and couldn't resist remarking about an _earthy_ scent. I suppose she's gossiping with her lady's maid as we speak, and going on about how inappropriate the King, the Margrave Gautier and the Ambassador of Duscur appeared."

Dimitri frowned. "I must learn to be more sensitive to things like this from now on. As the king, I'll need to be more careful."

"Nah, don't be too hard on yourself, Your Majesty. You're their king; if they know what's good for them, they won't make an issue of this. What would've been a disaster was us arriving at the Monastery today." Sylvain seemed amused. "I'm saying this because I care for you two like brothers, okay? But seriously, if I were the Professor or Mercedes, I would be running to the opposite direction the moment I see either of you."

Dedue was expressionless. "Mercedes hates running."

"That's not the point."

"Both the Professor and Mercedes have seen us in worse condition," added Dedue, his face as matter-of-fact as ever. "We had to go through weeks without any thought to hygiene in several of our campaigns against the Imperial forces. Not once did they complain."

"But that was different, Dedue. Rules of courtship and romance take secondary priority during war, of course, but you can't expect that to be the same during peacetime. Women have certain expectations."

Dimitri caught the concerned glance that Dedue gave, and tried to reassure his friend with a small nod. Yes, his chest had instantly tightened at the mention of war, but it was manageable. He could already feel himself relaxing, the hitch in his breathing gone as fast as it had come.

His gaze fell onto the small pouch he hadn't realized he'd taken out of his coat pocket. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude swelled in his heart as he turned it over his fingers. He gazed at its brown leather and its simple yellow stitching, and marveled at the fact that such an ordinary-looking thing bore two of his most treasured possessions – locks of his beloved's hair, and his wedding ring. Two things that symbolized _her_ presence in his life.

_Byleth_.

_She_ who found him when he had lost himself inside the prison of his mind, with only the corpses of his fallen family and friends to keep him company. _She_ who stubbornly held onto his hands even as he tried to plunge himself into the very mouths of hell. _She_ who loved and accepted him regardless, wretch that he was.

_Thank you, my beloved._

Resisting the temptation to press it against his lips, he carefully placed the pouch back into his pocket, then raised his head to see Sylvain and Dedue still in conversation. He was sure that they both noticed his silence—it would be impossible not to, since they were only three in the group—but none of them pried about it. There seemed to be an unspoken rule among his circle of friends to not draw attention to his lapses, as they must have sensed that they were a delicate topic to him.

The goddess has blessed him quite well, indeed. Not only in love, but in friendship. All the more reason why he must try harder to atone for his past.

Dedue appeared to be considering whatever Sylvain just said. He stewed on it for a few seconds before murmuring, "I believe you are right, Sylvain. What would you suggest I do, then?"

"The first rule in asking for a lady's hand in marriage is you have to make sure the setting is perfect. It has to be romantic. I'm talking about candle lights, a meadow of flowers, or a place of significance to both of you. It can't just be anywhere, or else you're setting yourself up to fail."

To his surprise and amusement, Dimitri saw Dedue actually retrieve a small sheet of parchment from his satchel and began scribbling on it with a piece of clay stick. From where he sat, he could see 'Find perfect setting for proposal' written in big, childlike letters.

This definitely encouraged Sylvain, because he leaned forward with the excited air of a teacher who was asked to explain his favorite subject matter. "The second rule is that you have to put an effort in how you propose. Make sure you have the basic essentials: the ring, a bouquet of her favorite flowers, and your secret weapon." He suddenly paused. "You do have a ring already, don't you?"

Dedue nodded in a way that was almost shy if it weren't for his perpetual furrowed brows. He prodded, "What is this 'secret weapon'?"

"A poem. I can guarantee you, Dedue, that no woman can resist a poem, even someone as practical as Ingrid. Of course, it goes without saying that it has to be sincere and heartfelt. So, if you want a foolproof plan, make sure you have it in your arsenal."

A flash of alarm passed through Dedue's face, but it was gone in a blink of an eye. A frown formed in its wake, pulling his thin lips into a deep hyphen. "I… do not know how to write a poem."

"Don't worry, it only seems hard at first. You just—Oh, I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"You can tell me what you want to say, and I can help you arrange it in a traditional structure. Just imagine I'm Mercedes." Sylvain ocher eyes glowed with mirth.

"No, that would not be necessary," Dedue replied a little too quickly.

"Or you could just give an honest declaration of your feelings. It doesn't have to be a poem," offered Dimitri who was trying—and failing—not to smile at his friend's obvious discomfort. He would never say it out loud, but Dedue's flustered face was quite endearing. Who would have thought that he was capable of looking so bashful?

Sylvain gave a dismissive wave of his hand, too absorbed with the discussion to notice the impropriety of the action. "Oh, but where's the fun in that? Come on, just imagine saying something like, _'Oh, my dearest Mercedes. Your hair glistens like threads of moonlight. The touch of your skin ignites the flames of passion fro_—"

Dedue stood up so quickly that his satchel and the parchment he was writing on almost toppled over onto the campfire. Thankfully, reflexes honed in the battlefield enabled him to catch them just in time.

"I will go check the horses," was his clipped excuse as he set them safely onto the ground and swiveled towards the thicket of trees.

But not before the two caught a glimpse of his blushing face.

"Well, off he goes. I guess I teased him too much," said Sylvain once Dedue was out of earshot, sounding not the least bit apologetic.

True enough, he had a wide grin on his face when Dimitri turned to him. He reckoned he had one, too. "Was that truly necessary?"

Still grinning, Sylvain raised a shoulder in a shrug. "He needs to loosen up. And besides, if there's one thing I learned growing up with you and Felix is that teasing someone is the best way to bolster relationships. Which is why," he suddenly stood up and grabbed the two cloth bags that were on his bed—Dimitri recognized one of them as their medicine bag—"I'll absolutely enjoy your reaction when I show you what I bought earlier."

Oh… gods. Dimitri already knew what some of the items were, had seen glimpses of them during the ride to the mountains. But while his gut reaction was to dissuade Sylvain from what was definitely going to be a mortifying discussion, he surprised himself by not saying anything. Instead, his attention was captured by the other bag. It looked considerably heavier, and…

_Wait, what are those… strange bulges? _

Curiosity won.

Sylvain continued until he sat down a foot across him, placing the bags between them. He opened the medicine bag first, and picked up two jars filled with a white gelatinous liquid. "These are the bridal oils I mentioned before, the holy grail of lubrication. Just make sure you get a handful of this before—"

"Yes, yes, I know how it's supposed to be used. You don't need to go on the specifics." Dimitri felt his cheeks burn. Oh, yes, this was definitely going to be mortifying. "But why did you buy two jars if I would just need a handful?"

Sylvain gave him a mischievous wink. "Who knows how many times you would need it during your first night?"

Dimitri should ignore that remark. He should disregard the hot stab of lust that shot to his groin at the idea of making love to Byleth multiple times in one night. Embedding himself deep within her so many times that there would be no doubt about his possession. Loving her body with all the hunger and need that had accumulated over the years.

Yes, he should definitely shun the image of her naked on a bed from his mind. Her large alabaster breasts and rosy nipples raw from his touch. His love bites decorating the column of her lovely neck. His hand prints on her parted thighs. His seed dripping from her core, mixing with the oils that he had used to ease his ravenous thrusts.

Goddess save him, but he was getting hard. With Sylvain in front of him.

He stifled a groan. Could he be more hopeless?

Thankfully, Sylvain was too busy explaining to notice. "—and that's what makes it so good at preventing friction. Good thing, too, because some women require the use of it even after the first, er, encounter."

"What are the rest?" Dimitri quickly put the medicine bag on his lap, painfully aware of the tightening in his breeches. He sifted through it with unwarranted eagerness, browsing through small packets of _Morfis_ seeds, some _Magred Kirsch_ and premium herbs, until his hands came upon a suspiciously large pouch filled to the brim with purple leaves that he had never seen before.

"That, Your Majesty, is the most potent aphrodisiac in all of Fodlan, _Amor Folium_. One-eighth of that pouch is enough to last you the entire night. And only for fifteen golds! You can count of Severin's to give you a good deal."

Dimitri groaned audibly now. "I assure you, Sylvain, that I have no need of this."

"You say that now, but I tell you, every man is always at a risk of needing a little bit of help. You never know when nature would fail you."

Dimitri's erection would beg to differ, but he wisely kept quiet about it. Instead, he arched an eyebrow at the direction of the other bag. "What's that?"

For the first time tonight, Sylvain looked uncertain, which fueled Dimitri's curiosity even further. It didn't help that his friend started with the following disclaimers, "Look, before I show you, promise me that one," he held up a finger, "you would keep an open mind, and two," another finger, "no violent reactions, okay?"

What was in that bag?

"Show me," Dimitri said, reaching for it.

Sylvain kept it out of reach. A series of metallic sounds came from the bag as it skidded against the hard ground. "No, promise me first. I know you, Dimitri. You have a devil of a temper when it comes to Byleth, and I don't want to bear the brunt of it until you let me explain. Unlike you, I still have to marry the love of my life, so I'd appreciate keeping my head until then."

Dimitri sighed. "Fine, I promise, Sylvain. Now would you please show me what's inside before I expire of too much curiosity?"

And so Sylvain did.

_Huh? What in the world?_

Questions exploded in Dimitri's mind, but all he could do was stare at it, lest his eyes were playing tricks on him.

They were not.

He managed to blurt out, "W-What would I use that for?"

"_This_ is more for the Professor's benefit than yours, really." Sylvain's relief was palpable. He had evidently expected a more aggressive reaction from him. "Let her explore. There are women who like having the freedom to do so. And since you have such ungodly strength, I assumed that it would help a great deal."

It took Dimitri a few seconds to absorb this. Now that he thought about it, this could help solve one of his problems, unorthodox as it might be. "I'll… think about it."

"Good. Because I tell you, this didn't come cheap." Sylvain's grin returned, and he looked at Dimitri in that warm, sincere way he always had since childhood. "Trust me. It'll be fine."

Dimitri smiled in return, shaking his head at the level of absurdity that could only happen with Sylvain.

They waited for Dedue to return before they retired for the night. It would be the last night they spend camping in the woods, for tomorrow, they would surely arrive at Garreg Mach.


	5. The Master Plan

_23__rd__ day of the Wyvern Moon, 1185_

_Garreg Mach Monastery_

It took Byleth approximately seven seconds to realize three things upon waking up:

One, she had somehow fallen asleep on her wooden writing table while reading Jeralt's journal.

Two, over the course of the night, she had drooled like a child, as evidenced by the thick crusting at the side of her mouth, and the fact that the page she had been reading was stuck to her right cheek as she straightened up. Thankfully, she was awake enough to understand the need to detach it from her before she managed to rip the thin paper. A look at it showed that aside from the dark, circular stain in the middle, and some smudges here and there, the writings were mostly legible.

She sighed in relief.

And then gasped in pain. Which brought her to her third realization: she had a massive crick in the neck, which was probably her body's way of showing its displeasure at being forced into an unnatural position for an entire night.

Camping around Fodlan with her father, and later on, with her own students made her no stranger to body aches like this; you had no right to be picky about lodging when your mind was centered on the mission ahead. But goddess, this really took the cake for being the worst cramp she's ever had. The entire column of her neck felt like a thick log that throbbed defiantly whenever she moved it.

Wiping away the traces of her drooling, Byleth then persisted with a series of head rotations, grunting indelicately at the taut pull of her muscles. A few more and she felt them loosen up a bit, a small victory considering how bad the cramp was. Satisfied by this, she extended her arms upwards in a wide stretch, yawning loudly into the room.

_That's a bit better. Now, where was I?_

Her gaze dropped towards the open journal, seeking out the last paragraph she could remember before drifting off to sleep. A pang of agony seized her heart as she read:

_Lilith talked about having six or seven children. She said it's her dream to have a big family, and I joked that we should focus on starting with one first. From what I've heard, I think childbirth is going to be an extremely painful business, and I told her this. As I expected, though, this just earned me a glare and she guaranteed that she won't change her mind on the issue. Damn, how could she look adorable and stubborn at the same time?_

_In any case, I have my work cut out for me, for sure. A big family means more mouths to feed, after all… but I don't mind it since it's with her._

A big family.

The words weighed heavily in her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe without feeling the oppressive pounding of her heart. It thudded with unspoken questions and unshed tears for a mother she never knew. For a father taken away too soon.

And for a future that was unfairly stolen from them.

She let a trembling finger glide over Jeralt's handwriting, unexpectedly needing to connect to him, to any part of him, somehow. Regret was bitter in her tongue as it occurred to her that she never told him how much she loved him. That he was a good father, despite the clumsy way he had raised her.

He never knew how safe she had felt with him at her side, guiding her. And now it was too late.

No, she shook her head, catching herself. She shouldn't feel this way. If Jeralt were still alive, he would pinch her cheek and laugh at her in his usual awkward way, his hazel eyes sparkling for a second before looking away.

'Silly girl,' he would say, just as he had on several occasions, 'thinking like that is a waste of time. You should just focus on more important things.'

This brought a soft smile to her lips. _More important things._

Her finger lingered on the passage she just read, eventually resting on the three words that reverberated inside her head like church bells signaling the start of the day.

A big family.

_I want one, too._

She looked at the journal fondly, trying to imagine this mysterious Lilith who gave birth to her, a woman who was capable of bending the Blade Breaker to her will, and warmed at the knowledge that she shared more than just flesh and blood with her. She shared her dream, as well. And she was going to fulfill it for the both of them.

Right, she had to seduce Dimitri no matter what.

Closing the journal, Byleth stood up from her chair and made her way towards the bed, feeling a level of excitement and determination that was normally reserved for a crucial battle. It might very well be considered as one, too, given that Dimitri was clearly too gentlemanly to initiate the process, as Hilda pointed out, and she would have to properly strategize to get things done.

Byleth padded her way to the side of the bed and looked at the headboard where the olisbos proudly stood, its elongated form propped up high by the two circular shapes at its base. It cut an interesting contrast to the headboard, black marble on cedar wood, reminding her of the statuettes of the Four Saints on the Church pews.

Clasping her hands together, she closed her eyes and bowed, or at least tried to, before settling with a low tilt when her neck protested. She uttered a silent request to whatever deity the olisbos was supposed to glorify, and hoped that Flayn had been right in saying that it was supposed to help in fertility.

_Whoever or whatever you are, may you help me get pregnant soon._

An amusing thought suddenly fluttered through her mind: Seteth stumbling across her like this – discovering the Archbishop of Seiros, praying to a different entity. He would be scandalized. Appalled, even. There would be an audible gasp, and then an icy glare that would carry the promise of at least a year's worth of reproach from her stern advisor. But Byleth never pretended to be religious, nor did she delude herself into thinking that Sothis was the only god out there. There could be many, like the Duscur people believed, and she was well aware that the tides of victory could easily be swayed by an external force.

_Sometimes, a secret weapon was all it takes to win a war_, she thought, her Sword of the Creator coming to mind. _You take help wherever you can._

She was drawn out of her thoughts by a series of knocks against her oak door.

"Professor—I mean, Archbishop, it's me! Sorry to disturb you on your free day, but could I speak with you?" a familiar voice said from the other side, sounding somewhat out of breath.

What could that be about? "Yes, Alm, coming."

A few quick steps and she was opening the door, finding Alm in his usual attire. His thick green hair was now concealed within a metal helmet, which, along with the rest of his armor, gleamed under the early morning sun. The rapid rise and fall of his chest and the sweat trickling down his face suggested that he just ran a good distance.

But what for?

The question was on her lips, but Alm answered before she could even ask.

"T-the king is here. He just arrived, along with the Margrave Gautier and their friend from Duscur."

Byleth's heart leapt to her throat. He was too early. He wasn't supposed to arrive until four more days at best, or a week and a half more at worst, if she were to add the transit time from his last letter. He had mentioned he would be travelling on horseback. How did he manage to get here so fast, then?

She wasn't ready yet.

"Only the three of them?"

Alm nodded.

"Where are they now?" she asked, relieved to find her voice calm despite the sudden chaotic feelings swirling inside her.

Alm wiped his brow with the back of a gloved hand. "They were in the Grand Corridor with Professors Manuela and Hanneman when I left. King Dimitri was looking for you. I think he expected that you would be in the former Archbishop's room, because he was on his way there at first."

Byleth's pulse raced. "_At first_? Where is he going now?"

"Presumably he's on his way here. I ran the moment I realized this, to warn you. What should I do, Professor? Should I still follow your instructions?"

Byleth automatically half-retreated back inside her room, her eyes quickly scanned the courtyard. Good. He hasn't reached this part yet. If she was lucky, he might even get waylaid by other people, thereby buying them more time to deliberate on how to proceed.

Turning to Alm, she said, "Yes. Please tell Dimitri I'm still asleep – Wait, what time is it?"

"Sunrise was just a little over an hour ago."

"Perfect," she said. "You can tell him that I was working late last night. I still need to prepare before I meet them. In the meantime, you can follow as planned: direct them to their rooms in the second floor dormitory and ask them to rest there for a bit. I'm sure they're tired."

Alm nodded, then looked down, shifting his weight on his feet. "I didn't bring this up because it's not my place, but I'm sure they'll ask about the sleeping arrangements. Or at least wonder about it. After all, you two are already married."

The unspoken question hung between them: _Why are you two sleeping apart?_

The answer was simple: _It's part of the plan._

But Byleth hasn't shared any of this seduction business to her friend; it was too private.

So, instead, she gave his arm a reassuring pat, and said, "My bed is too small for two people, unfortunately. It's barely wide enough for me as it is. It'll be better for both of us to sleep separately while I wait for a bigger replacement. You can tell them that if they asked."

Alm looked unconvinced, but nevertheless smiled in response. "I see. You can count on me, Professor."

A flutter of movement in her periphery alerted her, and she spun her head towards its direction, causing a spark of pain to course through the column of her neck.

She hissed through her teeth, but was relieved to see that her plan hasn't been foiled; it wasn't Dimitri, but merely one of the priests that attended the Monastery.

"Are you okay, Professor? What's wrong?"

"Don't worry, Alm, it's just a cramp," she said, while she massaged the side of her neck and re-entered the room completely. "I should close this before he gets here and sees me awake."

Satisfied with Alm's answering nod, Byleth closed the door a little too quickly than she'd intended. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes and released the breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

_No, no, no._

She wasn't ready to face Dimitri yet. She needed more time to prepare, to practice what she needed to do. She barely had time to do so the previous days, since every second of her waking hours had been devoted to her duties: discussing the doctrinal reforms she was leading with Seteth and other elder priests; meeting with the Knights regarding their ongoing investigation on Solon's mysterious origins; making rounds in the neighboring towns to bolster their faith in the new Church; and regularly ensuring that everyone in the Monastery, especially the children and orphans, were taken care of.

This was why she had put off studying Hilda's seduction techniques until her free day—today—with blissful confidence in her estimation that Dimitri wouldn't arrive in a few more days.

Apparently, she had grossly underestimated his speed. How he managed to get here so early on horseback from Fhirdiad, though, she had no clue.

_Now's not the time to be idle. _Byleth shook herself out of her thoughts. _Focus._

The first order of business was to get a hold of Hilda's letter, which was easy because she knew exactly where she placed it. Without even thinking, she made her way towards the side of her bed and kneeled, reaching beneath to find the small keepsake box Marianne had given her as a wedding gift. It was where she placed all her important correspondences, seeing as it was big enough to house them and simple enough to go unnoticed, its cedar build blending perfectly with her new brown carpet.

Sitting on her bed, she unlatched the copper lock with ease, and opened the box to reveal the letter in question laid on top of a pile that was mostly from Dimitri, and some from Annette, Marianne, Bernie, and Lysithea.

The letter was comprised of two parts written on separate sheaths, the first being the shopping list she had used a week prior, and the second one had '_How to Seduce Your Husband: A Guide by Hilda Valentine Goneril Aegir' _written on top in her friend's distinctly messy script.

The cheeky title always succeeded in bringing out an amused reaction from her, despite having read it on several occasions in the past weeks. And just as she had rolled her eyes and started on the first paragraph, she was interrupted by a loud knock on her door.

She froze.

Did Dimitri decide to check up on her? What should she do? Pretend to be asleep and ignore the knocks?

The voice of reason in her head agreed, since she knew she was severely unprepared to face him, but her heart rebelled – she couldn't do that, especially when he was making an effort in spite of the fatigue from days of travelling.

It was an immense relief, then, when instead of Dimitri's, it was an animated female voice that called out from the other side of the door. "Professor, it's me, Flayn. I saw Alm on my way here, and he said that you're secretly preparing here. May I assist you in anything?"

Still holding the letter, Byleth wasted no time opening the door and was able to usher in a very excited looking Flayn within seconds.

"Where are Dimitri, Sylvain and Dedue now? Did they see you?"

Flayn plopped unceremoniously on the bed, her eyes shining like newly-polished emeralds. "No, Alm was already leading them to the second floor dormitory when I left the corridor. They wouldn't have seen me go here." Then, she bobbed up and down so that her curls bounced in sync. "Oh, Professor, this is it! This is the day we have been waiting for. What do we do first? How can I help?"

Byleth sighed. "I've been so busy, I haven't practiced at all."

"Practice? What is there to practice?"

"You might as well read Hilda's letter." Blushing, Byleth handed it to Flayn, and watched as her friend burst out in giggles upon seeing the title.

"'_How to Seduce Your Husband: A Guide by Hilda Valentine Goneril Aegir,'"_ Flayn read aloud after recovering, "'_First and foremost, seduction is a game of mystery_. _The fundamental rule is to provoke a man's possessive nature by being out of his reach. He won't chase after you if there's no distance to overcome.'_" She suddenly gasped and glanced at Byleth, realization dawning in her expression. "Oh, is this why you asked to sleep in separate rooms, Professor?"

"Yes, I was following exactly that."

Flayn cocked her head to the side. After a thoughtful _hmm_, she asked, "But I thought you wanted him to give you that special embrace? Wouldn't that make it more difficult if you're staying in different rooms, Professor?"

"I thought about that, but it might end up just last time if I don't seduce him properly." Byleth sat down next to Flayn. "He might just fall asleep without doing anything."

"Oh, that's true! Hmm, now what's next? _'Make sure you dress to conceal. Inspire his imagination, and don't show the goods right away. Make him work for it first.'_ Er, Hilda certainly has a unique way with words, doesn't she?"

Byleth couldn't help but laugh. They were both beet red. "Yes, she does."

"Though I'm not quite sure I completely grasp what she meant by this, Professor."

"It's probably best not to linger on that." _Or else, Seteth would kill me._

"Okay, then. Moving on: _'Push and pull. Flirt and then pull back. Make him wonder. Make him fight for your attention, and don't be an easy conquest._

_Second, in terms of how to act sultry, you must follow three things: one, use a lower voice than normal'_—Oh! I've seen Dorothea do this before, when she talked to men! And Manuela, too!"

"So, it _is_ a technique, then. I thought it was a bit silly, so I wasn't sure."

"Yes, Professor. It seems like it. Why don't you try it out?"

Byleth still wasn't entirely convinced, but she obliged, lowering her voice a bit. "Like this?"

"Hmm, I think it's a bit lower when Dorothea did it. A bit more airy, too."

_Airy?_ "Uh, like this?"

Flayn's eyebrows puckered together. "It's hard for me to say. Perhaps it would be better if you said something you would actually tell Dimitri? Oh, like 'Hello, Dimitri'."

Though slightly embarrassed, Byleth still followed through and repeated the sentence in a lower pitch, drawing out the 'h' sound in an attempt at an 'airy' effect.

"Oh! Yes, that's it!" exclaimed Flayn. "That's perfect! Now let's see. There's only two more tips left: _'…two, pucker you lips in a small pout and combine it with three, look up from lowered lashes.'_"

"That's a bit easy. I've seen Hilda do that all the time, whenever she needs a favor from unsuspecting boys. I just need to practice to make them all feel more natural."

Flayn grasped Byleth's hand, her face erupting in a determined smile. "Don't worry, Profesor, I'm here, and I'll practice with you. With Hilda's guide and some practice, what could go wrong?"

_What could go wrong?_

Byleth never liked that phrase, but quickly brushed it off. She had to focus, because in an hour, she'd have to go meet her husband and seduce him.


End file.
